


For Future Reference

by Fictionista654



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Depression, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 11:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18249197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionista654/pseuds/Fictionista654
Summary: Arthur's afraid that saving Merlin's life has ruined their friendship.





	For Future Reference

Happy Field’s lobby was white, clean, and gleaming. It smelled like PineSol and Windex, and the only splashes of color were the two red couches and the landscapes hanging on the wall. Arthur wondered if there was some sort of law that had been passed, mandating that all mental health facilities must include landscapes.

Because it was Sunday, the lobby was far from empty, and Arthur had to wait his turn to sign in at the front desk. Everyone else seemed much more practiced at this. The woman in front of him was a pro—she said her name, showed her ID, and signed the book. She didn’t need any help with directions, just marched off down the hallway.

“Hi,” said the receptionist. She had soft, curly brown hair and what Morgana liked to call a “business casual” smile. But as she took Arthur in, her smile deepened, and she bit her lip. “You must be here for Merlin, then.”

“Uh…I am. How did you know?”

“One of our residents has been painting a picture of you,” she said. “In fact, he’s probably at it now. ID, please?”

Arthur dug his driver’s license out of his wallet, and made sure to get a glimpse of the receptionist’s nametag as he handed it over. Gwen.

“That’s a nice name,” he said. “Gwen. Is it short for something?”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “It’s actually quite embarrassing. My name is Guinevere.”

“Guinevere.” Arthur sounded it out. “Beautiful.”

“Do you flirt with all receptionists?” said Gwen.

Arthur smiled crookedly. “Just the interesting ones.”

“So I should call you up if it doesn’t work out with my girlfriend, then?”

Arthur signed the guestbook with a flourish. “Absolutely. Look, I’ll even give you my number.” He scribbled it down under the column entitled number.

“Funny,” said Gwen. “Merlin’s probably in the lounge. Follow the signs, you can’t miss it.”

Feeling a bit more confident than he’d been when he walked in, Arthur turned left into the hallway. It was just as brightly lit as the lounge, with doors on either side. He passed a few offices, Group Therapy Room A, Group Therapy Room B, and a few more offices before he came to the lounge.

So this was the social hub of Happy Fields. It was lined with large, squishy couches, and filled with shelves of books and games. A TV in the corner silently played an episode of SpongeBob. The room was filled with guests and residents, but Arthur could pick out Merlin right away. Even with his back turned from Arthur, Arthur could still see those ridiculous ears sticking off the sides of his head.

Gwen was right; Merlin was painting. Arthur came up behind him and examined the canvas. Arthur’s face looked directly out of the canvas, his eyes searching. It tugged something behind Arthur’s belly button. He felt a little nauseated. “Missed me, Merlin?”

Merlin jumped, his paintbrush skittering across the canvas. “Motherfucker.” He carefully dipped the paintbrush in the cup of water and swirled it around. “You don’t need to come in and destroy my paintings, you asshole.”

“Sorry,” said Arthur, sincerely. “I didn’t mean to. You’re excellent at these, though, I’m sure you’ll have another one up in no time.”

“Won’t be making another one of you,” Merlin muttered, still not looking at Arthur. He was still collecting his painting things.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” said Arthur, smiling. “I thought we were friends.”

Merlin shoved the easel so hard that there was a frightening moment as it tottered on its back legs before tipping forward again. His chair scraped against the wood floor as Merlin stood up. Arthur hurried to keep up with Merlin, who, usually as athletic as a flea, was showing surprising aptitude for speed walking.

They went through a door into the field Arthur had seen through the lounge’s windows. A path meandered around a fenced-in lake, and lawn chairs were strategically placed in the shade of the giant oak trees. Merlin collapsed in one of these chairs, positioning himself on his back and closing his eyes. After a moment, Arthur took the other one.

“I wish you hadn’t found me.”

It was the first thing Merlin had said directly to Arthur since that night. Arthur found he didn’t know how to respond.

“I’m not sorry I did,” he said finally.

The sun shifted, and Merlin threw an arm over his eyes. “I hate you.” He didn’t sound angry or upset or anything. He sounded like he was giving the temperature, or the date. Like he was stating a fact.

Arthur’s eyes prickled. He’d talked about this with Morgana. He’d read the blog posts. He’d known that Merlin might turn his anger at having survived on Arthur. It still hurt.

“You can hate me,” said Arthur. “Just know I’ll never be able to hate you.”

Merlin dropped his arm off the side of the chair and furiously ripped at the grass. He still had the bandages, Arthur noticed.

“Fuck,” said Merlin. “Fuck. Why’d you have to do that, Arthur?” He sat up. His bright blue eyes were shining with tears. “I don’t want to be here, you idiot.”

“If you found me in the same position I found you, wouldn’t you help me?” said Arthur. Merlin didn’t answer. “See? I just did what anybody would do. Do you really wish I were walking around with all the guilt of letting you die?”

“I was so close,” Merlin said softly. “It was finally going to be over. And do you think I want to be here?” He turned round on Arthur with a glare. “You think I want you to be paying for this posh center that hands out chocolates with their brochures?”

“Do they really?” said Arthur. “I didn’t see any.”

“I’m going to kill myself when I get out, anyway,” said Merlin.

“Talk like that, and you won’t be going anywhere.”

Merlin stood. “This visit is over. I trust you can find your own way out.”

 

“It was terrible,” Arthur said into the phone. “Awful. Horrendous. He hates me.”

“You sound like you need a drink, my friend.”

“That’s your solution to everything.”

“It’s a good one,” said Gwaine.

Arthur looked around his apartment. Without Merlin, it was so empty. Even when Merlin had gotten really bad, he’d still make some sort of noise. The TV would be on, or Merlin would be using his bathroom or something. Not this deadness.

Merlin’s bathroom. Arthur’d had it cleaned, of course, but just the thought of it turned his stomach. Too much had happened this past week.

“Not tonight, Gwaine,” he said tiredly. “I’m just going to turn in.” He listened to Gwaine’s sympathetic goodbye. After Gwaine hung up, Arthur just listened to the silence. There was beer in the fridge. He supposed he could drink here. Watch a movie or something. Catch up on work.  
Instead, Arthur spent the next hour looking at Merlin’s FaceBook albums. He went through all of the pictures, starting from the beginning. The first one was grainy, a selfie taken on a flip-phone. Cringy teenage nonsense. Arthur checked the date. They both would’ve been sophmores in High School. Around two months after this picture was taken, Merlin would make his first suicide attempt, which would land him in the hospital with Arthur’s half-sister, Morgana. Sure enough, the next pictures were glamor shots of Morgana, her smoky eye expertly done by Merlin.

A bit later was where Arthur came in. That was back when they still hated each other. Arthur knew why Merlin had hated him—he’d been a stuck up jerk—but he couldn’t remember why he didn’t like Merlin. Maybe it was just that Merlin made it clear what he thought of Arthur. But slowly, pictures of Arthur began to join the mix. Arthur and Merlin shooting each other with silly string. Merlin giving Arthur bunny ears. At some point, the line between friend and foe had been crossed forever.

Or so Arthur had thought. Now Merlin hated him all over again.

Arthur’s phone buzzed, and he jumped. Chiding himself for his nerves, he checked the Caller ID. Morgana. “That’s funny, I was just looking at pictures of us with Merlin,” he said when he answered. “The three of us were so close back then.”

“Thick as thieves,” Morgana agreed. “I heard you saw him today.”

“How?”

“Because I went to see him after you. We should have coordinated. Burn fewer fossel fuels, save the planet.”

“How did he seem?”

Morgana’s sigh sounded like the ocean against Arthur’s ear. “It’s so sad, Arthur. He was painting your face, did you see? I’m not sure whether that’s a good sign, though, because you were fanged…What else? He didn’t really say much. Wait, hang on—Oh, shit. I need to get to hair and makeup. I’ll call you during intermission?” And Morgana was gone. Arthur glanced up at the wall, where the marquee poster for her current Broadway play blazed in bright reds and orange. Ironically, it was about a woman who kills herself.

Arthur settled back against the couch cushions and returned to Merlin’s FaceBook. It had been a long time since Arthur looked at photos from college. There was that dreadful play Morgana had done her sophmore year of college. He and Merlin had driven five hours to see that. They nearly forgot to buy flowers, but Morgana was so happy when she came out to meet them after that they could have brought her a solitary fucking stem and she wouldn’t have cared. “You’re going to be a star,” Merlin had promised her. And now she was.

Merlin, too. Arthur clicked past photos of Merlin’s first gallery exhibition. They were mostly paintings of Merlin’s friends as fairy-tale characters. Arthur’d been given a sword and a horse. Freya floated on her back in a lake, little blue fairies flying over her. As Merlin’s paintings went, these were pretty tame. He hadn’t gotten to the body horror phase, yet. Maybe it made Arthur less of an artist, but he preferred these ones. They were from happier days.

Because in senior year of college, Merlin had gotten depressed again. That wasn’t quite right—Merlin was always depressed. He was never as happy as anyone else, though he hid it very well, behind jokes and smiles. But then there were the darknesses that crept over him, every few years, forcing him into bed for months. And when Merlin was like that, he could never remember the better times, no matter how much his friends reassured them that, yes, they had existed, and, yes, they would come again.

That last time, Merlin hadn’t tried to kill himself. They’d staged an intervention, telling Merlin that he needed to be admitted before he did something to himself. And he’d listened, if only to get them off his back. He’d gone to the hospital, and then done the day program, and then, finally, had gone back to painting.

So basically, Arthur had fucked this one up. He was Merlin’s flatmate, the one who saw Merlin the most. He was the one who should have been there for him. Four months ago, when he’d come home, and Merlin had still been in bed, he should have been afraid. He should have known.

 

That day, four months ago, Arthur had been worried, but this happened every now and then. It didn’t mean Merlin was about to enter a depressive episode, it just meant it had been a bad day.

“I’m home,” Arthur said, tossing his briefcase onto the couch. “Merlin?” The living room and studio were empty, so Arthur knocked on Merlin’s door. No answer. He knocked louder, and there was a definite groaning sound. “Some of us go to work, you know,” Arthur said, opening the door. “We don’t just laze around all day.”

The blinds were down and the lights off. It took Arthur’s eyes a moment to adjust. Merlin was still in bed, the covers over his head.

“Are you sick?” said Arthur, coming to the side of Merlin’s bed. Beneath the covers, the shape that was Merlin rolled away from the sound of Arthur’s voice. “Come on, it’s nearly dinner time.” In one quick motion, he pulled up the covers. Merlin turned a truly furious face on Arthur.

“Give those back, you dick. Now.” After being in bed all day, Merlin looked rumpled and greasy.

“Your breath smells like shit,” Arthur said helpfully. “Hang on.” He went into Merlin’s bathroom and got the cup with Merlin’s toothpaste and toothbrush, and filled a second cup with water. He set these down on Merlin’s bedside table, before kicking in his shoes and sliding in next to his friend. Merlin had already sunk back down and pulled the covers back up.

Arthur lay down, too, and for a little while, they stayed like that, breathing together. Carefully, Arthur put his arms around Merlin and rested his face against Merlin’s hair. They didn’t cuddle often. But when Merlin didn’t want to get out of bed, Arthur didn’t know what to do but hug him.

“You’re going to have to brush your teeth,” said Arthur, “if you’re going to keep living in this apartment.”

Merlin cried, then, not because of anything Arthur had said, but just because listening to another person talk when you were unhappy could jog loose any sort of reaction. So Merlin sobbed, his tears and snot and saliva getting all over Arthur’s sleeves. This wasn’t the usual sort of crying Arthur or Merlin did when they had to, silently allowing a few tears to slip out. No, Merlin wailed, his cries hoarse and animalistic. Arthur hugged him tighter. When Merlin was done crying, his sobs petering off into sniffs, Arthur propped him against the headboard and helped him with the toothbrush.

“You feel better?” said Arthur, when he came back from cleaning out the spit cup.

Merlin’s face was red and flushed, and his eyes still leaked tears. But he managed a small smile. “I think I’m going to go back to sleep, okay?”  
Arthur crossed his arms. “In that disgusting bed? I mean, I knew you were rough around the edges, but I didn’t think you were barbaric. Come on, get up.” When Merlin didn’t move, Arthur picked him up under the armpits and dragged him to the living room couch. “There,” he said, throwing Merlin down with a grunt. “You want me to put softener in with your sheets?”

Merlin made a noncommittal noise and buried himself under the woolen throw blanket.

 

It was safe to say that things had gone downhill from there. Every now and then, there would be good days, but it was mostly—Christ. All the signs had been there, and what had Arthur done? Confiscated the razors? As if that had done anything. He’d known that Merlin was still finding ways to hurt himself, but he hadn’t known how to help. And Merlin had promised that therapy was helping, and he’d seemed so much happier that past week, and Arthur was an idiot because suicidal people often seemed happier once they had a plan, and he’d known this, and he’d still left Merlin alone in the apartment.

The night when he found Merlin hurting himself was almost as bad as the night he came home to find Merlin half-dead in his bathtub.

And night when he found Merlin hurting himself had started so well.

They’d gone out to dinner with some friends, Gwaine and Percy, and afterwards the two of them had gotten ice cream. They walked back to their apartment the long way, along the river, Merlin doing impressions of Gwaine trying to order the fancy stuff on the menu and Percy getting annoyed—“es-car-got? What bourgousie bullshit is this?” “It’s French, Gwaine”—and Arthur chuckling as he licked at his strawberry scoop.  
After a night out, it was always nice to get back to their apartments. In reality, neither Arthur nor Merlin needed to share an apartment. Merlin was a famous artist, Arthur heir to half the Pendragon fortune. But every time they moved, they seemed to move with each other. Arthur had left a few times to live with girlfriends, and Merlin had lived with a boyfriend once, but they always came back to each other. Honestly, Arthur couldn’t imagine living somewhere Merlin wasn’t. Not for any length of time, at least.

When they got home, they’d said goodnight and gone into their separate rooms. If Arthur had noticed that he needed to borrow toothpaste right away, the night would have gone smoothly, and Arthur would have woken up none the wiser. But instead of getting ready for bed immediately, Arthur read a few chapters of his book, and texted Lance planning their next football game, and watched some TV on his computer. By the time he got into pajamas and looked around for his toothpaste, it was already two hours later.

If Merlin had locked his door. Or if Arthur had remembered the bag from the drugstore sitting on the piano. Or even if Merlin had gone into his bathroom instead of staying on the bed. Or if anything, really. If Arthur had knocked. But he didn’t, and Merlin hadn’t, and Arthur opened the door.

Merlin gasped. It shouldn’t have been Merlin who gasped, it should have been Arthur, but Merlin was always the more easily startled of the two of them. Arthur’s mind lagged behind his eyes as he tried to take in the scene. The overhead light was off, but the lamp on the night-table was on, bathing Merlin in a pool of golden light. His left arm was out in front of him, his right arm crossed over it. There was blood.

“Merlin,” Arthur said tightly. He thought he might cry. He thought he might vomit. “What do you think you’re doing.”

Merlin jumped over the side of the bed, making for the bathroom, but Arthur had years of athletics behind him, and he easily grabbed Merlin by the back of his shirt and spun him around. Merlin’s face was paler than usual, his lips blue. Arthur thought it was from the shock of being interrupted, but it might have been from blood loss. Because there was a lot of blood pouring from Merlin’s arm, soaking into both their clothes. It smelled like rusted metal. It smelled like a sickroom. Arthur clenched his teeth so he wouldn’t gag.

Meanwhile, Merlin hadn’t given up. He fought against Arthur’s restraint, but Arthur couldn’t let go. He was afraid of what Merlin might do if he did. So he held onto Merlin’s upper arms until Merlin stopped fighting.

“What are you going to do?” Merlin said belligerently.

“For starters, this.” Arthur dropped his left hand from Merlin’s right arm and quickly grabbed his wrist, squeezing until Merlin’s fist opened and the razor fell. Because of the way he’d been holding it, Merlin’s gashed-open palm had probably gotten the worst of it. “Jesus, Merlin,” said Arthur because he really didn’t know what else to say. “Jesus.”

“Don’t be mad,” said Merlin, his fight suddenly gone, and Arthur’s heart broke.

“Merlin, you total idiot, I’m not mad at you. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” He led Merlin to his own bathroom and deposited him on the closed toilet. The cuts seemed to be just on the line of what might require stitches, but Arthur knew if he brought up going to the hospital, he’d lose any trust he had with Merlin at the moment. So he spread the Neosporin and put on the bandaids and tried to think of what to say next.  
From Merlin’s arm, it was clear that tonight wasn’t the first night, but Arthur wasn’t sure what it meant. Was it suicidal behavior or not? Did this mean Merlin was headed for another attempt?

“You have to go back to therapy,” Arthur said, with finality. “You won’t have to do anything. I’ll make the appointment and bring you.” Merlin didn’t look at him, his gaze fixed on the blue tiled floor. Arthur felt a bit ridiculous, kneeling in front of him like this, holding Merlin’s hands in his own, so he we went and got an undershirt for Merlin to wear. Merlin changed dociley, his eyes already drooping shut. Once, a long time ago, Merlin had told Arthur that hurting himself made his thoughts slow until they dripped like heavy molasses and dragged him down to sleep. Clearly, it wouldn’t be any use to talk to him that night.

“You want to go to bed?” said Arthur. Merlin nodded, holding up his arms like a small child. Arthur, afraid to leave Merlin alone, put Merlin in his own—Arthur’s—bed and crawled in next to him. “Do you know your feet are freezing?”

“I’ve been told,” said Merlin, and fell asleep.

 

The next time Arthur went to visit Merlin, he found him doing arts and crafts at a long table. Arthur had to admit, it was funny seeing a world-renowned artist gluing feathers to a mask. Merlin was in a better mood today, and even smiled at Arthur when he sat down across from him.

“Enjoying the activities?” Arthur said drily.

Merlin grinned, holding the mask up to his face. “You know me. I love a good macaroni project.”

“Think you might try a new medium for your next exhibition?” said Arthur. “Maybe construction paper and crayons?” It wasn’t a very funny joke, but Merlin laughed, and Arthur lightened a little. If Merlin was laughing, it didn’t mean he was happy, but it did mean that he wasn’t rock bottom. So, an improvement.

“Come on,” said Merlin, nodding at the Tupperware of drawing instruments. “Go ahead. You know you want to.”

“I can’t do art in front of you,” protested Arthur. “You’ll laugh at me.”

“Never,” Merlin said cheerfully. “Hey, Nimueh, how’s the collage going?”

A tall girl with blue streaks in her curly brown hair looked up from the magazine she was ripping up. Her eyes were a ridiculous shade of blue.

“So good of you to show interest in the little people,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Hang on,” said Arthur, something clicking in his brain. “Nimueh Lake? The poet?”

Merlin nudged Arthur. “You’re not supposed to point out all the famous people. It’s rude?”

Nimueh smirked. “You’ve never been to a celebrity madhouse before? But your sister’s Morgana Pendragon.”

“Uh…” Arthur turned to Merlin, helplessly.

“Don’t worry,” said Merlin, carefully painting blue waves around the mask’s nose, “the other day they were bonding over all the doctors they’ve shared.”

“God, your sister’s hot,” said Nimueh. “If only Gwen hadn’t gotten to her first.”

“Gwen?” said Arthur. “Gwen at the front desk? But I thought she had a girlfriend.”

“They broke up literally right after you left,” said Nimueh. “She had to take her break early. And then Morgana came and swept her off her feet.”

“Gwen might be single, but Morgana’s not gay,” said Arthur.

Merlin and Nimueh shared a look. “I tell him he should read more gossip sites,” Merlin sighed, “but does he ever listen?”

“Wait,” said Arthur. “Morgana’s gay?”

Nimueh sniffed. “She’s about as straight as you are.”

“Me?” said Arthur. He looked from Merlin to Nimueh. “I’m straight.” Both of them kept nonchalantly ripping and pasting and painting. “I’m straight,” Arthur repeated. “And Morgana…” He trailed off. Even he had to admit that he should have seen this one coming. “Elena and Morgana were doing more than homework, weren’t they.” Merlin nodded sympathetically. “But why didn’t she tell me?”

“Probably because she didn’t have to tell anyone else,” said Merlin. “Maybe don’t let her know you’ve just figured this out. It might seem a bit rude.”

“Am I really that unobservant?” said Arthur.

“No comment,” said Merlin, looking so happy that Arthur never wanted the moment to end.

It ended.

It ended when Nimueh left the table and the sun shifted behind a cloud and Arthur and Merlin switched to the couch. It ended slowly, with Merlin talking less and less, and more and more slowly, until he just sat there unhappily.

“I’m sorry,” said Arthur, and Merlin shrugged.

“I’m used to this.” He paused a moment, and then rested his head against Arthur’s shoulder, letting Arthur wrap his arms around him. Arthur rested his cheek on Merlin’s head and gazed unseeingly at the television set. He could feel Merlin’s unhappiness next to him. It was like sitting next to a freezing lake, shivering from the splashes of water but knowing he was better off than the drowing friend.

Arthur cleared his throat. “I wanted you to know that when you’re ready for the day program at the hospital, you can come live with me again.”

“No,” said Merlin softly. “I can’t.”

“Uh, what?” Arthur held Merlin away from him and searched his face. “What are you talking about?”

“I know you’re going to disagree,” said Merlin, “but when I’m like that. When I’m so depressed. It’s. It’s not good for you. It’s not good for any of my friends. And—no, please don’t interrupt, I’ll forget everything I want to say—it’s not good for any of my friends. And it’s not that I’m saying I don’t want to be friends with you anymore, because I do. You’re my best mate, and I love you more than anyone else, except maybe my Mum. But it’s not fair for me to put that burden of worrying on you. For you to be wondering if I’ve—If I’m okay. My uncle Gaius has offered to take me in. He’s a doctor, and he knows about these sorts of things, and he doesn’t live so far from you. I promise I’ll move back. Once my medications are working right, and I think that I’ll be able to give as much as I take, I’ll move back.”

“You’re not mad at me, then?” said Arthur. “For calling an ambulence?”

“Oh, Arthur,” said Merlin. “I never was. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Arthur murmered. “I think you’re being ridiculous, by the way, moving in with Gaius. I want you to come back home.”

Merlin squared his shoulders. “There’s something I’m going to ask you, Arthur, when I’m better. And I want to be able to think about it first. So I need time. But we can see each other every day.”

“If you insist, love. If you insist.”

 

In hindsight, calling Merlin “love” should have given Arthur a hint as to what Merlin and Nimueh had been talking about. But he was still shocked to realize he was in love with Merlin midway through taking off his socks.

He did the only thing he could. He called Morgana.

“You like women?” he said as soon as she picked up.

“I’ve got one in my bed right now, actually,” said Morgana. “I believe you know her.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice you were gay.”

Morgana snorted. “I’m bisexual, actually, but it is still amazing that you’re actually as stupid as you look.”

“I think I might be gay,” said Arthur. “Or bi. Or whatever. I think I might be in love with Merlin.”

Morgana was silent for a bit. “Arthur,” she said finally, “obviously the two of you are mad for each other. But this isn’t the right time. You know that, right?”

“I think Merlin told me he wants to go out once he’s doing better,” said Arthur. “I mean, I’m pretty sure that’s what he meant. I’m sure there could be other questions he wants to ask me. Like where all his Watchmen comics are. I don’t want to be the one to tell him they got lost in the move.”

“The two of you have moved together how many times? Three? And you’re just now noticing you’re in love? Typical. And do you know how many women I’ve dated with since college? You’re pathetic, brother.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Love you.”

“I love you, too, Arthur. Anything else before I finally blow Gwen’s mind?”

“You could tell her I said hi.”

Morgana laughed, and the line went dead.

All things conisdered, Arthur thought it might be time to go back to therapy.

 

“Telling you it’s not your fault right now would be a waste of time, because you wouldn’t believe me,” said Morgause. “It’s not your fault, but we’ll come back to that later. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Arthur. It was clear why Morgause worked so well for Morgana; they both had that no-bullshit attitude. “So what are we going to talk about?”

Morgause flipped her pad to a fresh page and clicked her pen. “Tell me about the night Merlin attempted to take his own life.”

Arthur stared at her. “That’s it? We’re just going to jump right into it? You don’t want to hear about our friendship or anything?”

“When you’ve been doing this as long as I have,” said Morgause, “you learned to cut the crap. And you told me on the phone you don’t want therapy to be a regular thing, so we’re going to have to do the best we can.”

“Okay,” said Arthur. His hands shook. “Okay. I can tell you about that. Okay.” Morgause made a go-on gesture. “I, uh, I was at work. And Merlin wasn’t answering his phone. That’s happened before, and usually he’s just wrapped up in a painting or something, but…I don’t know. I had a feeling. So I went home. He was in the bathtub. I—He was in the bathtub.” Arthur stared down at his hands. “I thought he was dead. But then—he looked at me. His eyes opened. He looked at me.”

For the first time since that day, Arthur began to cry.

 

“I love you.”

“What?” Merlin looked up from his book.

Arthur shifted his weight, glanced around the lounge. “I love you.” Slowly, Merlin put down the book. “I know this isn’t a good time,” said Arthur, “and I don’t think we should do anything about it now, but I just wanted to let you know. For future reference.”

“For future reference,” Merlin repeated, smiling a little. “Okay, then. Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

“For future reference, I love you too.”


End file.
